


intoxicate friction

by crunchrapsupreme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Frottage, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchrapsupreme/pseuds/crunchrapsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenagers driving to Denny's at three in the morning, sweat slicked skin because Marco's air conditioning in his car is broken, and Jean's mouth tastes of freedom and cheap, bitter alcohol. All he <i>really</i> wants is Marco, pressed flush against every inch of his anxious body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	intoxicate friction

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil thing i wrote the night before easter because i was lacking in pwp's 8)
> 
> also over on [tumblr](http://crunchrapsupreme.tumblr.com/post/83282114718/slightly-drunk-teenage-boys-3-am-trips-to-dennys-and)!

The late summer air is hot and sticky as it blows in through the rolled down windows of the car, and Jean is almost tempted to stick his head out like a goddamned dog just to get some breeze on his damp, sweat-slicked face. It’s dark out, the streets barren, because nobody else but a couple of teenagers would be on the highway at three in the morning on a Wednesday night.

“When are you gonna fix your fuckin’ air conditioning?” Jean complains, running a hand through his hair to push the damp strands out of his face. It causes his hair to stick up near his forehead, but he honestly couldn’t care less right now.

He reaches down and digs around until he finds the bottle of cheap vodka under the passenger seat that he stuck there the other day, and he unscrews the cap before taking a swig. It’s coconut flavored, and Jean makes a face as the bitter liquid slides down his throat, settling a warmth deep into his stomach.

“I don’t know, why don’t you give me a couple hundred dollars and I’ll see what I can do about it, yeah?” Marco says, rolling his eyes. Jean just snorts and takes another drink, the sting of the alcohol burning his mouth but sending heady tingles through his gut that makes him take a deep breath, closing his eyes as he says,

“Let’s go to Denny’s.”

Marco raise an eyebrow, and Jean opens his eyes before lazily grinning at him, taking another drink before offering the bottle to Marco, who shakes his head.

“I’m  _driving_ , dumb ass.”

“C’mon, I don’t wanna be the only drunk one,” Jean pouts, and Marco just shakes his head again, taking the next exit and turning on his right blinker, heading towards the direction of the nearest Denny’s. He’s not really in the mood for greasy, fatty diner food, but Jean’s eyes seem to light up when they pull into the parking lot so Marco supposes he can make a small exception just for tonight.

He looks up when he feels a nudge on his arm, and he glances over to see Jean poking him with the lip of the bottle, eyes eager and twinkling in the streetlights streaming across his face.

“I have to drive us home, Jean,” Marco points out, his lips twitching when Jean lets out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“Come  _on_ ,” he whines, poking Marco’s cheek with the bottle. “Just take one drink, okay? You can drive home on a buzz.”

Marco’s driven home on  _way_  more than a buzz, so he finally rolls his eyes before snatching the bottle and taking a long, heady gulp that burns his throat something fierce. He coughs slightly when he hands the bottle back, and he makes a face at the pungent aftertaste.

“God, that’s nasty,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Jean shrugs, taking another drink himself.

“It was the only thing Reiner could get me. I asked for something a little classier, like UV or even fuckin’ 1800 Tequila, but this is what he handed me.”

Marco just shakes his head, motioning for Jean to tuck the bottle back under the seat so they can go inside, and Jean grins, taking another haphazard swig before screwing the cap back on and shoving the half empty bottle under the seat. When he looks back up, there’s a drop of alcohol on his chin, and before Marco can stop himself, he reaches over and swipes at it with the pad of his thumb.

Jean freezes, promptly turns 3 shades darker, and Marco laughs as the other teen runs a hand through his dyed locks before mumbling something under his breath, clicking the car door open and stumbling out.

They get a table, Jean ordering some sort of pancake dish while Marco settles for an omelette and some hash browns, and Jean plays around with the sugar packets as they wait for their food. His fingers are clumsy, attempting to make a tine sugar fort and failing significantly.

After his fourth attempt, Jean sighs and leans back in his seat. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, the same flush that becomes present when he’s a little more past tipsy, leaning towards the heavy end of the drunk spectrum, and Marco flicks his crumpled straw wrapper at him, laughing when Jean jumps in surprise, a small whine escaping his lips.

“You’re so  _mean_  to me,” Jean pouts, attempting to flick the ball of paper back but missing Marco completely.

Their waitress eyes them sharply as she makes her way towards them with two plates of food. She probably has to deal with obnoxious teenage boys all the time, and Marco smiles at her apologetically. She seems to lose some of the venom in her gaze at Marco’s grin, but she still makes sure to frown at Jean when he fumbles some more with the sugar packets, knocking a few on the floor.

“Marco, Marco,  _Marco_ ,” Jean mock-whispers after their waitress has left them alone. He takes a bite of pancake, mouth full of sugary sweetness, and Marco raises an eyebrow as Jean chews and swallows. “ _Marco_.”

“Yes?” Marco replies slowly, unwrapping his own silverware to cut up his omelette.

“We’re eating  _breakfast_ ,” Jean says intently, eyes narrowed as they stare at Marco’s slightly amused expression.

“Yes, Jean, we are,” Marco supplies, lips quirking up at the corner when Jean shakes his head.

“No, no, hear me out,” He says, placing his palms flat against the table. “We’re eating breakfast……. at _night_.”

Marco heaves a deep, loud sigh, faux annoyance seeping into the gesture, and Jean bursts into loud, hiccupy giggles, face bright and happy like a kid in a goddamned candy store. He thinks he’s so _clever_ when he’s hazed in a fog of alcohol, and Marco can’t help but chuckle a bit, fond and soft.

“Well, technically,” Marco starts, taking a bite of omelette and chewing it slowly. “Technically it’s morning now, Jean.”

Jean frowns, reaches across the table to place a sticky finger against Marco’s lips. “ _Shhhh_.”

Marco contemplates him for two seconds before darting his tongue out and licking a long stripe up Jean’s pointer finger. It tastes like maple syrup and salt, and Jean squeaks and jerks his hand back, a flush coloring his face once again as Marco laughs at him, but there’s a dark undertone in Marco’s gaze as he stares across the table at Jean, and Jean swallows under the stare, throat suddenly severely dry.

They eat the rest of their food in moderate silence, and when Jean stands up, full and content, he stumbles a little on his feet. Marco quickly stands up and grabs his elbow to right him, and Jean laughs, breathless, shuffling his shoes against the tile floor.

“C’mon, lets get you home,” Marco says quietly, placing down a few bills on the table for a tip before steering Jean out the door and back into the car.

Jean rolls down the window again, and he lets his head loll against the car door as the breeze ruffles his hair. He’s nursing the vodka bottle against his chest, and Marco rolls his eyes and he grabs it, taking a large chug before grabbing the cap from the cup holder and screwing it back on, tossing the bottle into the back seat.

“No more for you,” Marco scolds, and Jean sticks his tongue out childishly, causing Marco to laugh, a slight buzz running through his own blood now, warm and tingly in his veins. He knows if he got pulled over he’d be in deep shit. He’s definitely not drunk enough to be over the limit, but he  _is_  underage, so he makes sure to drive on point with the speed limit until he’s pulling up into Jean’s driveway, turning off the ignition.

Marco opens his mouth to say goodnight, tell Jean to drink some water and get some rest, but he’s honestly not really surprised when Jean interrupts him, voice quiet but slightly definitive as he says,

“Stay?”

Marco doesn’t need to be told twice, and he follows Jean into the house, Jean’s hand tight where it’s curled around his wrist, tugging him carelessly through the front door. He stumbles over the threshold, and when he kicks the door closed behind him it squeaks against the hinges.

“Shh shh  _shhhhh_ ,” Jean giggles, voice quiet but definitely not quiet  _enough_ , and Marco rolls his eyes as he covers Jean’s mouth with the palm of his hand, tugging the shorter teen towards the basement door and stumbling their way down the stairs.

Jean’s bedroom is upstairs, but there’s still a nicely sized couch down in the basement, sitting in front of a cheap tube-television that Jean has his GameCube hooked up to. Marco likes it better down here anyways, because at times like this, Jean is sure to be a little more louder than normal in his half-sober state, and waking his parents up is the last thing on Marco’s list. The basement isn’t sound proof, but it’s far enough away that Marco doesn’t have to be on edge with every noise Jean makes.

And he  _definitely_  plans on hearing more of Jean’s voice tonight.

Marco plops on the couch, right in the middle, legs spread open and arms spread out against the backrest, and Jean stands in front of him, a slight frown on his face.

“Where am I gonna sit?”

His eyes are wide, and Marco lets his gaze darken as he reaches out and grabs Jean by the hips, tugging him until the boy is situated in his lap, knees on either side of Marco’s hips. Jean’s wearing a pair of his stupid basketball shorts, and the silky material bunches easily when Marco slides his hands beneath the fabric, up Jean’s thighs until he can dig his fingers into Jean’s ass, holding on tight as he presses Jean against him more.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jean gasps, fisting the front of Marco’s shirt and rolling his hips down. His rhythm is a little off, but Marco can feel his muscles clenching in his grip, and Marco removes one hand from Jean’s ass in order to reach up, cup the back of his neck, and bring the boy down for a kiss.

Jean pants against his mouth, and when Marco licks inside, he tastes cheap alcohol and the sticky sweet remnants of pancakes.

“You taste like egg,” Jean mumbles against Marco’s lips, pulling away with a loud, wet  _pop_ , and Marco rolls his eyes.

“You taste like pancakes.”

“Pancakes are  _delicious_ , though,” Jean points out, draping his arms over the back of the couch as he leans down, pressing his forehead to Marco’s.

“ _You’re_  delicious,” Marco responds sharply, grinning as he watches a flush rise up Jean’s neck, coloring the tips of his ears in a nice pink color. Marco darts forwards, mouthing along the tendons in Jean’s neck before nosing up until his lips are hovering over the sensitive place below Jean’s ear, and when he flicks a tongue out, tracing a wet line along the skin there, Jean whines and arches forward, tilting his head to the side to give Marco more access.

The body weight is heavy and warm against him, but Marco wants more, so he quickly maneuvers himself so he’s lying on his back, Jean settling on top of him, and when Marco wraps a strong arm around Jean’s waist, rolling his hips up sharply, Jean gasps and lets his head drop against Marco’s collar bone, panting loudly, and Marco can feel his breath, hot and damp, through the thin material of his shirt.

It’s cooler down here in the basement, but Jean is still sticky with sweat, and when Marco slides a hand up the back of Jean’s t shirt, the skin is warm and damp with perspiration. Marco hefts Jean further up his body, presses his nose into Jean’s neck, and when he inhales, the scent is heady and strong, teenage boy tinged with sweat and grass and the faint traces of Jean’s cheap Target brand cologne.

Marco digs shallows welts along Jean’s spine when he drags his nails back down, and Jean moans and arches against him, rolling his hips down, and Marco would consider taking off their god forsaken pants if he wasn’t already so  _fucking_ _close._

“Dumb,” Jean pants out against Marco’s cheek. “You’re so  _dumb_.”

Marco laughs against him, breathless and low and he reaches down again with both hands, slipping his fingers beneath Jean’s shorts and boxers to grabs two nice handfuls of his ass. “Why am I dumb?”

“Dunno,” Jean giggles slightly, curling an arm up to bury into Marco’s hair, tugging gently. “You just are.”

“You’re dumb,” Marco replies, rolling his eyes as he presses Jean against him more fiercely, and Jean lets out a choked moan, knees slipping on the couch cushion as he tries to up his rhythm, dry humping Marco like a dog in heat, and the small, desperate noises Jean’s making are going straight to Marco’s cock, throbbing against the confines of his shorts as he thrusts up once, twice more, before letting out a low growl as he digs his fingers into Jean’s ass, finally coming in his shorts.

Jean’s ass clenches in his grip when the other teen comes apart, warm spurts dampening the front of his own shorts as he rides out his orgasm, kissing Marco sloppily and groaning loudly, voice cracking near the end.

Jean collapses on top of him after he’s done, and Marco gives Jean’s ass one last squeeze before removing his hands and instead wrapping his arms around Jean’s waist, holding him close even though his body heat is near suffocating.

“Are you sobered up yet?” Marco says, lazily kissing along Jean’s jawline.

Jean hums quietly. “No.”

Marco laughs, sucking Jean’s bottom lip into his mouth before releasing him, a line of spit connecting their mouths. “You drank like, half the fucking bottle, idiot.”

“Mmm,” Jean mumbles, tucking his face underneath Marco’s chin, curling up against his chest. “Sleep now. Hangover later.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Marco says, and when he tilts Jean’s head up again to kiss him once more, he tastes of sugar and breakfast food and three am drives to cheap 24-hour diners. He also tastes like warmth, and an instant comfort pools down deep in Marco’s chest as he presses his lips against the corner of Jean’s mouth, the other boy already evening out his breaths, head lolling to the side as he falls into a heavy sleep.


End file.
